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“Forget everything you think you know, you are no longer someone” (Moffie) Photograph: Daniel Rutland Manners/Curzon Artificial Eye

An elegiac coming-of-age movie that has questions to ask of all of us. If you think about South African masculinity, you need to watch this.

When I first watched Oliver Hermanus’ critically acclaimed 2020 film Moffie, I felt a deep sense of unease from beginning to end. Once I had finished the LGBTQ coming-of-age/war drama, I was unsatisfied, left in limbo with a feeling that something had been left unfinished. Having watched it a second, then third time, I am beginning to think that feeling of something unfinished, of limbo and dissatisfaction, is the whole point.

Moffie, which premiered at the Venice international film festival in 2019, is set in 1981, at the height of the Border war, and four years before PW Botha’s infamous…


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Culture, social status, and morality.

When the American artist Thomas Kinkade died in 2012, people of good taste around the world breathed a sigh of relief. One comment on a video reporting his death read “Our long national nightmare is over.” Another proclaimed “I hate Thomas Kinkade with every fibre of my being.” The man and his works were obviously the subject of some disdain, but why is this?


https://www.trtworld.com/opinion/should-the-term-black-to-describe-people-of-african-origin-be-retired-29105
https://www.trtworld.com/opinion/should-the-term-black-to-describe-people-of-african-origin-be-retired-29105

the myth of an organic, black solidarity and the need for a universal, diverse movement of the poor

I just completed my daily quota of ‘blocks’ on twitter. Most of them were black, male, cis-heterosexual, and all of them were wildly problematic. I blocked them not only because their views are repugnant, but because I find that starting a flame war in the comments of some would-be Hotep who doesn’t know the difference between power and freedom is actually therapeutic. There are a lot of problems with my approach, not least the fact that I go out to find fights only to drop them halfway, if only to frustrate my opponents. The other problem, the one that I…


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An insect trapped in Amber

A stream of consciousness meditation on burning pancakes and eating carbs while time loses all meaning.

In a week’s time, exactly a week, down to the second, I’ll sit down to write this essay. ‘That’s not how time works!’ the crafty quantum-physicists who form my audience cry, but they’re not sure of that anymore, none of us are. Wednesdays are my best days, which is why I do all my manifesting, my quiet meditations, on Wednesday afternoons after a bowl of chickpea-tomato curry. These days, I am always manifesting, always meditating, and so every day must be Wednesday, in a sense. Wednesdays make me feel good, so every day IS Wednesday now! Anyways, today, tomorrow, next…


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One film cannot tell an entire continent’s story, and we shouldn’t want it to.

Imagine this; its a Sunday evening in Cape Town. The sky outside my bedroom is the blue of opal, the sun is warm and casts a golden glow over everything. I’m at my desk, I have five PDFs open, all of which I should be reading, but that’s not what I’m doing. I’m doing the same thing as every reasonable person in this country…no, this world; I’m talking about Beyonce.

Saturday, the 1st of August marks possibly the most important day of 2020. Not because it marked a new month, nor another day in the ongoing political arrests and disappearances…


St Jerome Writing by Caravaggio
St Jerome Writing by Caravaggio
St Jerome writing by Caravaggio

Last week I read ‘The Argonauts’ by Maggie Nelson, a memoir which blends together gender theory, meditations on child-birth and the body and how difficult it is to have one. This was in the wake of American rapper, J Cole’s now famous ‘ I don’t feel well equipped as a leader in these times. But I do a lot of thinking’ declaration. At that time, I was reading, avoiding thought and the burden of language, and so Cole and I seemed like two people on opposite sides of the globe, inversions of each other united in inadequacy. Nelson’s lyrical prose…

The Blog(TM)

In which I ramble

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